Sleeping Awake

Once more the stark shrill resonates.
The yellow, orange, tumbles across the black,
dark secrets, no longer veiled;
little by little, piece by piece
we acknowledge new perceptions,
revoking those past mistaken cognisances.
Again the shrill captures my ear,
a black shape dives between the
naked branches, a glimpse, at me or beyond
I know not, but hurriedly the visitant
evaporates.
Is this a waking dream, or dreaming reality!
My thoughts do ponder for an answer.